Time, Memories, and Hope
by b4ndg33k
Summary: Time heals all wounds (or at least grants impressive scar tissue), Memories remind us of who we are, and Hope makes us think of the future. Team Free Will will need all of these to deal. 3 shot. ch. 2, Dean sifts through his memories, searching for what used to make him human. rated for Dean's language.
1. Quality time with Sam

**(A/N: This is my first attempt at the Supernatural Fandom! I hope you all like it. This will have three chapters from different characters points of view.)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any related television shows. Also, I am aware of the Loch Ness Monster, though I had no part in bringing a dinosaur to a Scottish lake. I suggest we ask Gabriel about that one.**

**Chapter Summary: Sam knows that time heals all wounds (or at least grants impressive scar tissue). A study in how the youngest Winchester deals. takes place in the latter half of season 9, but before the finale.**

* * *

Sam always kinda knew that he was the type to hold on to things, not let them go. He still remembered every blow he had earned from Dad and Dean during training, teaching him how to hunt things that went bump in the night. Until Stull Cemetery, when he had managed to stop the apocalypse he started and Castiel had revived him, Sam could pick out the tiny lines of slightly lighter skin on his forearms from nicks from Dean's knife fighting classes. Jess- the women Sam slept with would sometimes trace scars earned on the job or through training, and Sam would have to come up with lies about a childhood car accident.

Now his body was technically almost four years old, and the only scars and blemishes had been earned since. Most days he never thought about it, but sometimes while he was sitting next to Dean in the car driving to or from a job Sam caught himself tracing where there should have been a line, an almost invisible scar and thinking wistfully about that summer of '96 when they had stayed at a lake for a few weeks while Dad and Dean (and sometimes Sam) cleaned out the tri-state area of any and all supernatural monsters they could find. Sam and Dean had been training when Dean lunged just as Sam slipped (not used to growth spurts or the wet beach) and despite both their best intentions and skill, Sam had a half inch gash on his arm.

But mostly Sam remembered how Dean had been more flipped out than Dad who was watching the whole thing, and Dean had almost looked like he was going to cry when he saw that he hurt his little brother. Sam had just felt stupid for slipping over his growing limbs, and Dad had thought it would be a great opportunity for Sam to learn how to stitch himself up, since he couldn't always expect Dean and Dad to be there for him. Dean had thrown a wild questioning look at their father, like he couldn't ever imagine _anything_ keeping him from helping his little brother, especially when he needed help. John had caught the look and amended,

"In the middle of a hunt we could get separated- for a while." Back then even John believed in their bond. Now the brothers could hardly look at each other.

* * *

For a long time after Jess died, Sam would have recurring nightmares of how she died, and he talked it out with Dean again and again. Eventually he began to sleep through the night, and Sam wasn't sure if he wanted to cry with relief or with grief. What if he could never see her again except for in his dreams that were fading? All of their pictures and belongings had been destroyed in the fire, and Sam didn't have anything left of Jess except for his memories. What if that too faded into the dull horror that made up his life now?

He didn't talk to Dean about it. He didn't know if his brother would have anything to say to that, and he didn't think he could handle it if he accidentally pushed Dean over his 'chick-flick' moment quota and his older brother pushed back, telling him to suck it up. Winchesters didn't show their emotions unless one of them was passed out on the ground bleeding out.

Once when they were stealing a car to use since the Leviathans could track the Impala, Sam had started the engine, and the song coming from the CD left in the machine startled the youngest Winchester so much that Lucifer had blinked out of existence for a few seconds and when he came back he was patchy and see-through. At that moment centuries in the cage wasn't the most pressing memory haunting Sam.

_He was in the tiny cramped kitchen of his college apartment, pretending to read through one of his law texts, but really he was watching Jess out of the corner of his eyes. She was puttering around the stove, stress cooking. The sunset came in through the small window perfectly reflecting in her golden curls, and Jess was singing to herself while the boom-box that Sam kept on NPR played one of her CDs. _

_It astounded him how she could sway to the beat, bend over the counter to double-check the recipe and start singing in Gaelic without missing a beat. _

"_Is your family Irish?" Sam asked her once, wondering if she had picked up the language from relatives since try as he might he couldn't tell any difference between Jess' and the singers' Gaelic. Jess had just laughed._

"_No. I mean, I don't think so." She shrugged easily, "Most Americans are a mix of everything from the British Isles and the rest of Europe. I'm just a total dork who gets _really_ into my songs." After that their conversation had drifted on to other things, and Sam kept the small nugget of knowledge in his heart. His girlfriend could memorize songs in different languages and sing them as well as a native speaker if she liked them well enough. _

"Ugh!" Dean made a face, pulling Sam back to the present. Something had clenched in Sam's chest and he grabbed Dean's hand before he could hit the eject button.

"Wait!" Sam blushed and modified his tone. No need to make Dean think he was going any crazier than he already was. "Just let the song finish."

"What? Since when have you liked Celtic Woman?" Dean tried to treat his little brother with kid gloves these days, but he couldn't keep the twist out of his mouth when he said the name.

"It's Teir Abhaile Riu. It was Jess' favorite. She used to sing it sometimes when she would stress bake during dead week and finals." Dean gave him an odd look, but the brothers pulled out in the stolen vehicle and let the song play until the end and Dean checked with a look towards his brother before he pulled out the CD. Neither brother said anything until they were well out of town on the highway.

"I didn't know you still thought about her." Dean said, as though continuing the conversation from earlier.

Sam shrugged, at the moment more concerned with Lucifer stabbing him over and over again with a meat hook. "You still think about Lisa."

"Yeah, but that was last year."

Sam made himself sit still even though now Lucifer was pouring boiling wax on his skin. "You never get over some people, Dean. She was the love of my life." And it's my fault she's dead. Sam didn't say it, but Lucifer agreed with him.

"Huh. I wonder why we didn't see her in heaven then." Dean had figured that even if Sam didn't care to relive any of his memories with his family, Sam's college sweet-heart might have made an appearance. Sam was a little surprised. Dean _never_ brought up heaven.

"I did. The first thing I saw when I woke up there was Jess and I moving into the apartment. Everything was still in boxes, but she was like the energizer bunny- never staying still for a second. She was so _happy_, because she said it was our first home together." Sam smiled and Lucifer flickered behind him for a second before coming back with a vengeance, making him grimace. "I actually drug most of her things into the building before I realized I was dead. Next thing I knew we were in the car, driving around." Sam lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. "We were just goofing off, singing along with the radio." Sam smiled. "I think it was that day in between jobs when we got lost and spent the entire day looking for Highway 60 because you wouldn't stop for directions, then everything _flickered_, and suddenly I was in a different memory. I figure it was the demon blood. No way was I making it up there with that in me. Heaven could probably tell. That's why my memories after that were so . . . _weak_, I guess. I mean, I was happy in those memories, but they weren't my best hits."

Dean gaped at him for a second and nearly ran them off the road. "So you're telling me that _wasn't_ your heaven?" Sam wasn't sure what he was getting at.

"Sure it was, you saw it." But Dean just smiled and shook his head. Hours later when they squatted in an abandoned house he still had a grin on his face. Because he knew. The Angels were cheating manipulative bastards, and he hadn't seen Sam's real heaven. Now if only he could convince Sam.

* * *

Still, on days when Sam supposed the universe decided to throw him a bone after a hellish week of starting the apocalypse, or Dean catching a witch's curse that was meant for him, or being the last standing Winchester (again), or his brother dying then turning into a demon, or something else horrible, Sam would dream of Jess.

Sam wouldn't admit that he was still carrying the torch for her. He knew that she was never coming back, and she would have wanted him to move on and try to find someone else to share his life with (Dean had said once that she would want him to be happy, even if most days Sam wasn't sure if he could even do that anymore). But no one else had ever been able to make Sam feel the way he did when he was with his old girlfriend.

The dreams weren't even about sex. It was mostly just Sam laying across the couch in the bunker (which was somehow in the Stanford apartment that burned) while Jess propped his head on her lap and just _talked_ to him while combing through his hair about one of her classes, or Lord of the Rings (he still couldn't believe that she had never read them before they started dating) or something one of her friends was doing.

Now they were walking around the arboretum that Jess had heard of from Tim from one of her psychology classes. Sam kind of felt old fashioned, taking Jess on a date and then just walking around in the park with her, holding hands. He'd be mortified if Dean could see him now. But this was still his dream. It was a decade ago and Stanford, and Dean didn't care to see him until he wanted help tracking down their missing father. Despite years passing, Sam still wasn't sure what Dean had meant when he acknowledged that he was perfectly capable of finding Dad on his own, but he didn't _want_ to.

If Dean wanted Sam's company why hadn't he called or visited before then? When asked, Dean had just pointed out that Sam could have called too, but that wasn't right. Sam was disowned. He wasn't supposed to call or contact either Dad or Dean. But these thoughts were clouding what should have been a beautiful day with Jess.

Apparently dream-Jess could read his mind because she looped her elbow through his and said "Your brother loves you, Sam. Just as much as you love him, but you're both allowed to fight." Her lips turned down into a small frown of displeasure.

"You're allowed to be angry with him, Sam. He tricked you into saying yes. He did it because he loves you, but uninformed consent isn't consent at all. And after Lucifer, hell, even after Meg, you have every right to throw any kind of fit at possession. You were assaulted for months at a time, and whether _he_ thinks of it that way or not, Dean was an accessory to it."

Sam just shook his head, making Jess squeeze his arm. "I'm your girlfriend, Sam. I'm always going to be on your side."

"I love you so much." In a corner of his mind, Sam hoped that he had fallen asleep in his own room instead of out in the open, because it would be embarrassing for someone to see him crying in his sleep.

Perhaps the thought spawned the action, but Sam could feel himself being pulled back into the world of the living by a hand shaking his shoulder.

"Sam? Are you okay man?" the youngest Winchester blinked groggily and rubbed at his eyes, wincing when his fist came away wet. They were in the library and Dean was in front of him, looking concerned.

"What was that about? You were crying but not moving or moaning or anything, so I couldn't tell how bad it was. . ." Dean trailed off uncertainly, unsure of himself now that his protective instincts had been appeased and he could remember that they weren't supposed to be brothers anymore. But hunting partners could look out for each other, right?

Sam didn't say anything at first, just rolled his shoulders. "It wasn't bad. Just something I think I needed to hear. Do you want any breakfast?" Sam always worried that most of his brother- most of Dean's diet came from a bottle these days.

Dean seemed surprised. "I'm good. What did you need to hear? Was it some kind of angel dream-walking thing?" Castiel had entered his sleeping mind before, to try and pass warnings, so maybe an angel had passed through the wards to get to Sam?

"Nah. It wasn't any angel." Jess was better than any of those dicks with wings, even when she had been stressed and angry enough that Sam would have put money on her in a fight against a raging werewolf. "It was a ghost. Or I dreamed of a ghost." Sam frowned in confusion for a moment, considering the potential effects of having Heaven emptied and what counter effects that could have on the wards on the bunker before turning his attention back to Dean.

"Okay . . . do we need to get the salt and exorcisms out?" Sam huffed a laugh.

"No. she's fine. She just wanted to talk."

"About what?" if there was a new lead about Abaddon, then Dean couldn't let Sam spend time cooking breakfast, they could grab something on the road.

"She said that she'd always be on my side, because she was my girlfriend and that just because you and I are angry with each other right now doesn't mean that we don't love each other." For a moment Dean felt tempted to ask which dead girlfriend it had been, but that would have been mean. It was probably the werewolf or Sarah, or maybe Jess. Sam had been feeling nostalgic lately.

"Okay. . ." Dean drew out the word. "What was with the water works, then?" Because if Sam was keeping something from him, _again_ . . . there wasn't really anything Dean could do about it. They weren't brothers anymore.

Sam seemed a little confused, probably because of being woken up then playing twenty questions. "Oh." He touched his face where the tear tracks were still wet. "I think it's because I was happy. Dean, you know that no matter what we're still brothers, right?" Dean pulled up Sam with a jerk of his arm, helping to steady him once he was vertical.

"Dude, what were you eating before you fell asleep?" he asked instead of trying to answer around the lump that formed in his throat. Sam just laughed again, this time almost sounding like he meant it.

Sam would go on to make scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast for himself, but oh-so-accidentally prepare a plate for his brother. It would take bullying, bribing, and the puppy-dog eyes, but Sam eventually got him to eat it all. And while he scrubbed the frying pan, Sam would reflect that he always felt the most rested after a Jessica dream.

* * *

Sam had saved the voicemail. It was important that he always remember how wrong he could be, especially when he thought that he was doing right. When he had first met up with Dean again at the convent, he expected his brother to be there to kill him, and he would have stood still and let him, after they killed Ruby together, if it weren't for Lucifer rising and their literal Deus ex Machina. Then after that they were running around playing catch up and Sam figured that Dean was planning on helping Sam clean up the mess he made before killing him.

But he never did, not even after they separated and Sam told Dean that he was the chosen vessel for the devil. He was sure that that would be the final straw and his older brother would remember his warning that he was going to kill Sam because their father's dying words were more important than Sam. He wondered how to explain to Dean that he would have to be creative with his execution, since Lucifer had promised to bring Sam back even if he killed himself. When Dean called Sam up, wanting to meet again, Sam was sure that it was a trick to lure Sam out so Dean could kill him.

But Dean had done nothing of the sort. Later, Sam heard a conversation between Dean and Cas. They thought that Sam was asleep, and Sam was about to stretch and 'yawn' to let them know he was awake before they saw him and thought he was eavesdropping when Dean mentioned 'That Voicemail' he had left Sam.

"I just- I guess I just thought that if Sam heard that, I could stop him." Dean shrugged looking helpless.

"It affected Sam more than you know." Cas intoned before shuffling awkwardly and making a quick excuse to leave.

"Fat lot of good that did." Dean mumbled. Sam turned his face into the pillow so his brother wouldn't see his smile. Dean hadn't meant what he said. He had been trying to scare Sam straight. It had gone horribly wrong, of course, but that didn't matter to Sam. He waited fifteen seconds then 'woke up'.

Of course, as the day wore on, Sam's lingering doubts came back. He was sure that Dean couldn't fake the kind of venom that dripped from the message. Dean wouldn't be able to find those exact words to hurt him unless at some point he had thought them- felt that way about his brother. Sam felt like he would never stop having to prove his worth to his older brother.

Soulless Sam had deleted the message. It was dangerous to keep sensitive information on a cell phone when anyone could find it and use the information against Sam or even Dean. Besides, it was easier to make decisions now than it had been before he went to hell. It was like that place had burned all of his doubts away.

It was better to keep his distance from Dean anyway. Sure, it was more efficient to hunt with a partner, but his older brother had kept his promise to stay with Lisa and Ben and live the apple pie life, and he was happy where he was. Besides, Dean would only hold him back. He had found a hunting partner in his grandfather, Samuel, and they were able to continue the family business, hunting things that went bump in the night.

When Sam got his soul back, one of the first things he did (after eating and sleeping) was going through all of his things, finding out what he thought Dean might have thrown out or lost while he was apparently in a coma in Bobby's basement. It was still safely tucked into the lining of his bag, and he didn't think Dean had noticed it while he was 'asleep', but his phone had been scrubbed of all voicemails and other data.

Logically, Sam knew that it was dangerous to keep sensitive information on a device like that, but a tiny corner of his mind had hoped that Dean might have heard _that_ message, realized that his brother had saved it for a year (that it was the most played message on his phone), and recognized it as the penance and reminder that it was. He had hoped that maybe the message could have stayed, because it didn't matter that Sam was supposed to be in The Cage with Michael and Lucifer (and oh god, Adam was stuck there with them without Sam to protect him the way Dean, the way a big brother should), nothing had changed.

Sam was still a monster, and he probably would always be one, even if Dean probably never wanted to articulate it. Besides, both of them had changed so much, was it even realistic to think that Dean would ever feel about him the Same way or have his back again?

~X~

* * *

Sam kept the amulet. Dean was angry, he understood that. Dean's heaven was beautiful, full of memories of their family. Sam's was _not._ His 'best hits' were mediocre because he was the tainted demon blood drinking boy king abomination, and he was never supposed to get into heaven. Sam tried to process everything later, figure out why those memories in particular were included, and the best he could figure out he organized in a bullet point list on his computer. It was a protected file because if Dean ever saw it when he played around on his computer if he didn't blow a gasket then he would laugh and make fun of his OCD.

The thanksgiving wasn't about the other family, no matter what Dean thought. It was because Sam was used to getting little to no attention from adults. He was always 'the new kid' from that weird family of drifters, and if they did care to pay attention to him, it was always with suspicion. Was he the one stealing from the lockers? Cheating on homework and tests? (Because a smart drifter was a nice idea but never a possibility with these people) or worse, were those bruises from his family? Should they call the cops?

But that thanksgiving, that girl's parents were paying attention to him, but they seemed . . . happy to have him there. Of course, later he learned that his girlfriend had a terrible taste in guys, and Sam was the best boy her parents had ever seen her with. Sam had been so pleased to be center of positive attention for once that he almost forgot to sneak food out for Dean.

Flagstaff was the best and stupidest idea Sam had ever had. It had been wonderful to be on his own for a couple of weeks, not constantly drilling or learning new ways to kill things, but he knew he was worrying Dean, leaving like a jerk without telling anybody. And when Dad had found him. . .

Sam thought long and hard on why that was a heaven worthy memory and decided it was because of Bones. Dad and Dean had never let Sam have any pets. It just wouldn't work with their nomadic lifestyle, and eventually they'd have to leave it behind anyway, because they never knew when they'd have to make a quick getaway (no one liked to remember Poughkeepsie). So those two weeks in Flagstaff were special to Sam in a way because of Bones. He had found the dog filthy and limping his first afternoon in the park. Sam had taken him home, cleaned and doctored him back to health, and Sam found that he had a loving and loyal companion in his dog. Sam loved animals, but if he had to choose, Sam would say that dogs were his favorite.

When Dad had showed up to drag Sam back to Dean, he had dropped Bones off at the shelter. Sam, who had remained stoic through the yelling and scolding (Dad never raised a hand to Sam in violence, only in training), burst into tears the rest of the long car ride back to Dean. His brother had assumed that Sam was all torn up over Dad, so he had acted like a buffer between them for the next few weeks like he always did when they had a fight.

The night Sam left for Stanford was easy. Dean had told Sam that that night was one of the worst nights of his life, and in a corner of his mind Sam knew that. That was what made what Dean did so special. He had run out after Sam, when he had stormed away from his fight with John, and newly disowned. Dean had done everything he could think of to get him to stay, even pulling out the 'L' word that Sam hadn't heard in years, not since Dean had decided that he was too old to tell Sam that he loved him every night, and had stopped giving him hugs just because. Dean had told his little brother that he loved him, and begged him to stay, and when that hadn't worked, Dean had given him a ride to the bus station, gave him all the money he had on him, and peppered him with advice on how to _not_ be a total geek at college.

Sam knew how much all of that had to have cost his big brother, and he selfishly soaked it all in, feeling loved on what he pretty much figured would be his last evening with his family. He wore that love like a shield on that long bus ride, and it gave him the courage needed to not run off at every stop along the way and walk or hitchhike back to his family. The dual knowledge of that evening kept him strong and away.

Sam was disowned, never welcome back, forbidden to call, but Dean loved him enough to let him go live his own life. He set up two different bank accounts, living on half his wages so that he could make a savings fund for Dean. Once he graduated and could set up his own law office Sam would track down Dean's phone number and give him a call, let him know about the money that was his (it could never pay back his older brother for feeding and clothing and _loving_ him all those years, but it could pay for gas for Baby and buy food for a while, or even bail Dean out of jail [he would definitely need that at some point]).

When his world had burned up around him with Jess, the money in Dean's fund was quietly added to their daily account, and if Dean thought that all of that was saved up for a ring for Jess, then there was no need to tell him otherwise. The actual ring money was set aside for true emergencies and was eventually spent on the gas and honeymoon suite Sam needed to end the world.

But Sam kept the amulet. Dean was angry, with every right to be, and Sam would hold onto the last physical symbol of their broken bond until Dean ever decided that he wanted it back.

It was hidden in the lining of his duffle bag, where it couldn't get lost in a hasty retreat from the law. It was well hidden enough that no one could ever find it unless they knew where it was, or they literally took the bag apart. He was tempted- more than tempted, to wear it in Detroit when he said 'yes' to the devil with the end goal of throwing himself into hell. Why not? If he was going to hell anyways, why couldn't Sam bring one thing with him to remind him of why he had done all of this?

But that would leave Dean alone. And Dean deserved any form of comfort infinitely more than Sam ever would. More than anything, Sam wanted to clear the air with him, and if he brought up the amulet now it would only drag up Sam's disastrous _tainted_ heaven, and that wasn't a conversation that Sam wanted to have on his last night on earth. So he made sure it was safe in his duffle. Dean would find it when he sorted through Sam's things, and he would know that Sam never meant to make things so bad between them.

It remained in Sam's bag in the truck of the Impala for the year and a half Sam was gone and then not, and when Soulless Sam had joined up with Dean again, and Dean had given Sam his things back, Soulless Sam had pulled out the amulet that night while Dean slept in the motel room and looked at it for a while, trying to figure out whether or not he wanted to throw it out.

It was useless, but it didn't take up very much room. It might mean something still to Dean, but Sam didn't care to give it to him because that would draw up a conversation about _feelings_ and it was exhausting, trying to remember what he would have felt a year ago and how those emotions would have played out on his face.

So he kept it hidden in the bag. Eventually there would come a time when Dean would question Sam and his motives or integrity. That would be the proper time to give it back, as proof of his 'love'. Until then, it didn't really hurt anything where it was, and it wasn't a bad act of 'sentiment' to keep it safe.

* * *

When Sam got his soul back, one of the first things he did (after eating and sleeping) was going through all of this things, finding out what he thought Dean might have thrown out or lost while he was apparently in a coma in Bobby's basement. It was still safely tucked into the lining of his bag, and he didn't think Dean had noticed it while he was 'asleep'. That was good. As Sam learned more about the truth of the year he couldn't remember, he realized how lucky he was that the amulet was still safe.

It was justifiable paranoia that led Sam to move the amulet into his pocket where he could feel its weight and brush against it when he needed to. He never carried it on a dangerous mission because if he died and Dean did something stupid to bring him back and he was soulless again, Sam couldn't take the risk that he would deem it useless and throw it away permanently. So it was tucked away in the lining of Sam's duffle when he thought for sure that Dean and Castiel had killed themselves along with Dick Roman.

Sam was numb, like his emotions had died with his big brother when he was faced with Crowley's gloating face while he explained that Dean was _gone_ and Sam was truly on his own now. Later Sam would wonder why Crowley never offered to deal with Sam and bring Dean back in exchange for Sam's soul (Broken, torn, and flayed as it was, Sam had learned that it was always useful to have such a marker over hunters like that), but when the king of hell vanished, leaving Sam alone, he had somehow avoided the authorities and make it back to the motel they were staying at- he was staying at on auto pilot.

Sam sat on the edge of his bed, holding the amulet at eye level to try and puzzle out what to do. Bobby and Rufus and Ellen and Dad and everyone Sam would ever consider calling for help was dead. Kevin was probably dead already, and Garth had only given his contact information to Dean.

Dean was everybody's favorite Winchester. He was brave, and fiercely loyal, and funny and smart (God, Sam loved watching his big brother come out from behind the drop-out façade and _slam_ some drunk idiot or demon idiot with logic or a brilliant plan, and now Sam was on his own. . .), and more than anything else, Dean was _good_. Dean was in heaven with Mom and Dad, and Ellen and Jo, and Bobby and Rufus, and Pamela and Kevin, and Pastor Jim and Caleb, and everybody who the brothers had loved and was dead because of Sam. It never mattered that Dean was the favorite because until a few years previously Sam had been _Dean's favorite_ and that made Sam feel as special as anything else in the world.

Should he go to a cross-roads?

The thought flickered through Sam's head. He still had a box made up under the passenger seat of the Impala with everything he would need to contact a cross-roads demon. If Sam could just remember how his feet and hands worked, it would only take an hour or two and then he could be with his brother again. The standard was ten years before the collection was taken, but with Winchester luck, Crowley would hold the soul indefinitely and work the brothers like his demonic flunkies, but that wouldn't matter because they'd be _together_ and they could out-smart or gank Crowley.

But would that be the best thing for Dean? He was in heaven now, and at peace for the first time in years. Sam was a selfish bastard, but even he couldn't bring himself to ruin this for Dean. So no matter how badly it hurt, Sam couldn't bring himself to ruin this for Dean. He briefly looked at his pistol and wondered if there was any way he could join Dean, but he dismissed the thought quickly.

No, Sam was never destined to go to heaven. The one time had only been because God wanted to play telephone and tell them that he wouldn't help them at all. With the things the youngest (only) Winchester had done, all Sam had to look forward to once he died was eternal torment in hell. The farthest possible place from Dean. And hadn't Lucifer once taunted him with the foolish hope that Dean would get him out of the cage? Lucifer had, of course, revealed eventually that he was lying and Dean was happy playing house and forgetting all about Sam, but while he had kept the premise that Dean was trying to get him back, Lucifer had told him that it was only delaying the fun. Once Sam died again he would undoubtedly go straight to hell, and when he arrived, the demons would escort him right back into the Cage, where Lucifer would have all kinds of fun things ready to celebrate his return.

And Sam would put off that day for as long as he could, even if it meant wandering the earth with no one who would remember that only one person could call him 'Sammy', or what kind of coffee he got at Starbucks, or the punch lines to his jokes.

He started wearing the amulet after that, just to hold onto the last strings of his sanity (was it because of Castiel dying and losing hold of his Lucifer hallucinations, or was it because Sam had never handled being on his own well at all?). He wore it on the day he hit a dog and took it to the vet.

He wore it the day Dean came back into his life and he hadn't been in heaven, but purgatory and Crowley was a lying bastard. That evening he tucked it into his pocket. He didn't need it now that his real 'stone number one' was back.

When they found the bunker (their heritage, their legacy) and moved in, Sam tucked the amulet into the lining of his duffle, because he didn't want to lose it when they would inevitably have to bug out, because nothing good lasted. Eventually, as the trials progressed, and Sam felt more at home, he kept the amulet in his pocket for added comfort.

After the disastrous third trial, but before the Gadreel scandal, Sam had been in a good place. He had almost even dared to think that he could relax and let himself be happy. He had even started rehearsing how he would casually bring up the time they went to heaven, then let Dean know that he had the amulet for him, anytime he wanted it. After all, they had finally left the past hurt and the drama behind them, hadn't they? Then the angels and Dean had ruined all that, and Sam cursed himself a fool. The amulet was moved from the lining to the trashcan for a minute and a half, then carefully dusted off and returned to Sam's pocket for another five minutes until the promise and the lies became too heavy and it was tucked away in Sam's sock drawer.

When Sam learned that Dean had gotten the Mark of Cain, he sealed himself in his room for days at a time, trying to learn everything he could about the mark and how to get rid of it, because he was still angry with Dean for the whole possession thing, and he would be damned if Dean died before they were able to fix this.

Sam hung the amulet from a safety pin on his cork board so when the words on the pages spread in front of him in dead languages blurred he could look up at the amulet and remind himself what he was doing all this for. Because Dean had never betrayed his brother . . . okay, had only done it once, and for the exact opposite reason as the mark's namesake. After all that Dean had done for Sam, he deserved to have Sam get him out of this.

Sam always kinda knew that he was the type to hold on to things, not let them go, and he would always hang onto this. The amulet would be right here, waiting for Dean if he ever wanted it again. Always waiting.


	2. Dean's trip down Memory Lane

**(A/N: This chapter turned out to be longer than the last one, but I think it did everything it needed to. In case it isn't clear, this is set in the first few weeks after the season 9 finale. Enjoy! Feel free to drop me a review if the fancy takes you.**

**Chapter Summary: Struggling with his newly demonic nature and the Mark of Cain, Dean heads out on his own to learn control. The best way to do that is with his dormant human side that is only brought out by memories. Not Dean's favorite thing to do, but if it means the difference between protecting Sam and killing him . . .**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Also, while I have visited UFO's, I cannot help anyone navigate through area 51. That thing's a maze.)**

Dean's thoughts were whirling around in his head, making it impossible to think of anything. There was so much going on, that Dean needed to sift through, so Dean made himself stop. Stop moving and just sit down and breakdown all of his thoughts into smaller, more manageable chunks. He would deny until his next dying day that he was willingly submitting himself to an introspective chick-flick moment. (He had picked up his scorn for public displays of emotion from Bobby, and cultivated it into his personality like he had Dad's hunting and attitude, Mom's care of Sammy, Pastor Jim's hard-as-nails stare, and Caleb's coolness. Some days Dean was sure that he was just made up of borrowed things from his family.)

Dean was different now. He had left the bunker soon after he woke up. Sam and Cas were looking for him. Crowley told him about their exploits every now and then, when the king of hell could find him. At first, Dean was a little worried that the King, his apparent new boss would try to send him somewhere on a mission. If that happened, he would have to kill him, and it would just be trouble. The last thing Dean needed right now was a promotion from hunter, to demon (maybe he was technically a knight of hell), to king of hell. He had no idea how to explain that one to Sammy. But Crowley didn't; in fact the former tailor had never even asked him to harm anyone.

(Thank any deity who was listening, because Dean wasn't sure he wanted to explore just how low his newly demonic soul was willing to sink. Dean knew intellectually that hurting and killing civilians was what monsters did, and even if Dean was one now, he wasn't going to act like it and end up on Sam's radar. But emotionally, when Dean thought of it, all he would imagine was how fun it would be to practice his technique with the First Blade. In a corner of his mind, Dean wondered if this was the kind of thing Sam went through when he had returned from hell without a soul and with no explanation. Had Soulless Sam been capable of worrying? He had to have known that something was wrong, but they had no idea what until Castiel had done the soulonoscopy.)

If Dean didn't know better, he would think that Crowley felt guilty for putting Dean into this situation. Once Crowley had even _gently suggested_ that Dean return to the Bunker. Apparently he had dropped in to explain the situation to Moose and Cas, so they wouldn't try to exorcise him or anything.

Dean had just laughed, then kicked his ass and left the condemned house he had been squatting in. Now Dean was in an abandoned motel off of the main highway. No one ever seemed to drive down this road anymore, so the eldest Winchester decided it was safe enough. He took care to snap the lock to room eight and take the bed closest to the door.

(That was the rule. Dean slept closest to the door in case something burst through the wards before Dad got home. It was one of the many rules Dean had come up with to keep Sam safe while Dad was away fighting monsters in the night. There were rules for everything, some taught by the adults on how to make money last and avoid attention, and other fun made-up-on-the-spot rules to try and liven things up, like the time that Dean declared that they could only speak in movie quotes from five to six on Fridays.)

* * *

Dean had no intention of going anywhere near Sam until he could be sure that he wouldn't hurt him. He could feel the blade in his mind, chanting a soft _kill, kill, kill, _and even when Dean was human he refused to use the blade when Sam was nearby, just in case something terrible happened.

Dean may be a demon now, but he had all of his memories. It was important to sit for a while in the quiet where no one would bother him to sort them out and figure out just who he was now. Because Dean had lost his little brother four and a half times, and he would be _damned (_wait. . .) if he would be the cause of making his little brother's death stick. (God, he almost felt bad for whichever shmuck of a Reaper had been assigned their case after Tessa killed herself. There was a stab of almost-regret that Dean didn't allow himself to dwell on.)

The half count was the most recent. Dean still counted the aftermath of the Trials to be Sam dying, and he would let that angel in again if it kept Sam and Dean in the same world. It was a hard thought, that he would be willing to let Kevin die so Sam could live, but that's all Dean was anymore. Hard thoughts and rough edges. He could still see the doctor standing in front of Dean, camped out by Sammy's bedside, telling him that Sam's life was in god's hands now. Dean felt a familiar surge of anger at those words. It was indistinguishable from the effects of the Mark for a moment, but then settled into the old familiar anger that had once set Dean aside as the Righteous Man. Despite what any feather-heads tried to tell him, Dean was surer than ever that his judgment was not absolute, rather it was his bull-shit detector when it came to anyone who wanted to screw with Sammy that was absolute. He had a lifetime of practice looking after Sammy, and he had perfected the art.

Dean remembered his father's last words to him. That he would either have to save Sam or kill him, and for a moment was glad that his dad was dead. With the Mark burning on his arm and his new demonic disposition, Dean would gladly kill his father for ever uttering those words and putting Dean in that position. In fact, maybe Dean could track down that ghost summoning ritual thing Bobby had used once to summon John Winchester and vent his mounting frustration on him . . . because if there was one thing Dean could never do it was hurt Sam. (Even before he knew that it was Meg wearing his brother, Dean knew something had to be off. There was no way that kind, empathetic Sam could kill a hunter in cold blood. Let alone be drunk in public or smoke or attack Jo. And no matter how many promises Dad and Sam tried to drag out of him, Dean would never be able to hurt Sammy.) He would literally rip the lungs out of anyone who tried. Hell, now with his new demonic powers he could do that without laying a finger on the mook.

* * *

The first time Sam had died was Cold Oak. Dean had let Sam out of his sight for five minutes, and then the next thing Dean knew the Road House was burnt down, and he couldn't find Sam. There had been a bit of hope when Bobby and Andy had helped him find Sam, but then he couldn't get to Sam fast enough, and Jake was _looming behind Sam with a knife_. Even if Dean died a thousand times, he would always remember the smile on Sam's face when he saw Dean coming for him, how his expression was starting to change to confusion when Dean called out his warning. It was too late, and the next thing he knew, he was holding Sam in his arms, trying to stop the blood, and reassuring Sam but mostly himself that they could fix this.

There was no way Sam could _die_, right? Dean would do anything to keep his geeky huge little brother safe. (Dean had seen other people who had grown up in similar situations as him and Sam, on the move with little or no money for food. They were malnourished scrawny people, and Dean counted it as one of his few pluses that Sam had grown into his tallest potential.) And Dean was well aware of the irony of his decisions. He had been the one to get upset over Dad selling his soul to save Dean. ("What's dead should stay dead!" Sam was the exception to every rule.) That year that Dean was living on borrowed time and Sam was killing himself trying to find a way out of the deal was hard. Why couldn't Sam let it be? The demon had said that if they tried to welch out of their end of the deal, Sam would drop dead. The whole point of this thing was that Dean would rather go to hell for all eternity than live without Sam. But Sam was different. He was stronger than Dean. Sam had proved with the Stanford thing that he could live and thrive without his family.

Dean remembered one of Crowley's recent visits. The King of Hell loved the sound of his own voice, and he just wouldn't _shut up_, even when Dean was very pointedly cleaning The Colt in front of him, and shooting looks at the older demon. He was soliloquizing about Sam, and apparently suicidal since he just wouldn't shut up about the bond between the brothers. God, Dean knew demons were stupid, but this idiot had to take the cake.

"I suppose little Sammy doesn't feel _quite_ as devoted as you do, though." Crowley continued, either not knowing or not caring that Dean hadn't been paying attention. "I mean, do you remember that time you and Cas went to purgatory, and Sam moved to Texas and got a dog? I remember his face when he showed up in the lab, and you two were gone." Crowley chuckled.

"It was _priceless_, mate. Anyway, he asks me where you two are, so I tell him that you're gone, and he's all on his own now. I made it sound like you two were dead, see I was planning on conning Moose into making a deal to bring you back. I decided to let him stew for a while and come crawling back to me to beg for it, then I'd be able to access Purgatory the way I'd been planning for more than a _year_ at that point. As a bonus, I'd hold Sam's soul over the two of you and start up your indentured servitude again, but does the little wanker play ball?" he didn't pause for an answer, or notice that all of Dean's movements had stopped. "No! He just goes off and mopes for a year until you come back." He shook his head. "Pathetic. Probably he thought you were in _heaven_ or his soul wasn't whole enough to trade, or some tosh like that." He snorted before Dean threw him into the wall with his developing telekinetic powers.

"It was _your_ fault?" Apparently Crowley's self-preservation instincts were still around, because he _finally_ seemed to notice that Dean was working himself up for a nice bloody murder and he vanished before Dean could swing the blade. The only Knight of Hell half-heartedly looked for him before giving it up and coming back to the abandoned house he had been squatting in. It was the one he and Sammy had been staying in the second time they saw Bela.

Dean shook his head ruefully when he wandered the room. He was stupid for thinking that Sam would ever abandon him. Sam had never done any evil he hadn't been manipulated into. If Sam had any flaw, it was that he was too determined to see the good in people. Only Sammy could accidentally let Lucifer free when he thought he was saving the world from the mess Dean had made by breaking the first seal. He thought back to the time when Sam had flat out told Ellen and Jo who had been lurking about his budding psychic powers. (Hadn't Gordon Walker proven to them that they couldn't trust hunters that they met, even if they had been friends of John?) The idiot had even told Bobby immediately that he had been the one to release Lucifer when even Dean (who had been spitting mad at him and disappointed) would have kept mum and told absolutely no one. Thankfully Bobby (once he was in his right mind again) had 'forgiven' Sam for falling for that demon bitch's long con.

Then there were the times with the demon blood detoxing. Sam was so naïve, he had willingly let himself be led into the panic room. The look of betrayal he had shot Bobby and Dean made his gut twitch with a shadow of guilt even years later. The second time after Famine, Sam had hit his first withdrawal ten minutes out from Bobby's, and Dean was still so proud of the way his kid brother had managed to keep it together, then just walk into the room under his own power.

* * *

The second time Sam died was on that case years ago with the wish giving coin. The real kicker was that Dean never even learned about the lightening that brain-washed chick had wished for until they were in the car, fifty miles out of the town on their way to the next job. They were going over the case, verbally deciding which pertinent details to add to the pages of John Winchester's journal. Dean had nearly run the Impala off the road, and for a moment he was a kid again, watching that Striga suck the life out of his sleeping little brother. He had learned that night that he was the only thing standing in between Sam and Death, and today Dean realized how dangerous it was for Sam to be out of Dean's sight.

(He refused to imagine what Sam was doing now on his own. Regardless, the thoughts still popped in Dean's head from time to time. Was Sam still trying to track him down? Or worse, had he partnered up with some other hunter who wouldn't be able to look out for Sam the way Dean could? He made a mental note to make a quick trip to hell to visit Samuel Campbell and repay him for everything that had happened with Soulless Sam and Crowley. He couldn't wait to see the look on his grandfather's face when he realized as John had realized that they pegged the wrong brother to go dark side . . .)

Dean had still wanted to turn the car around and head back to give that girl a piece of his mind when Sam reminded him that once the coin was destroyed the girl didn't remember anything that she had done, and what about the girl Ruby had warned them Alistair was after? Dean halfway wished he had his powers in that moment so he could go ahead and rip Ruby to pieces. If only there was a way to revive demons. . .

The Mark throbbed, and Dean was reminded that he had been angry with Sam plenty of times. He had lived his life revolved around Sam since he was four years old, for Pete's sake! What had Dean ever gotten out of it? In fact, why shouldn't Dean pick up the blade and track Sammy down . . .

He made himself take a deep breath and thought of Sammy when he was only five or six. He had just finished off the last of the cereal before Dean got a taste, and then offered Dean the prize. If he remembered right, it was still buried in a time capsule in the gravel parking lot of a certain dead-end motel. Maybe Dean should head over there to look at the collection of cereal box prizes, drawings, and even a few baby teeth that Sam had given him over the years. . . No, maybe tomorrow. Dean felt like he was testing his rage threshold, seeing how far he could give in to the darkness without having to act on it. For now he would make do with the memories of driving down the empty road with Sammy, both of them singing their hearts out to the radio, of digging up graves and having to redo it because Sam's OCD couldn't tolerate the sloppy corners. One side of his mouth twitched up whenever he remembered as a kid Sam would whip out his straight edge and compass . . . in one high school Sam had taken an archeology course, and the teacher ended up complaining to Dean about Sam having to redo most of his digs. . . (Tell me about it, Dean thought. He had nearly _died_ once or twice because Sam couldn't stand a sloppy hole . . . this wasn't helping Dean's anger issues.)

* * *

Even when Dean was disappointed with Sam, it seemed like most of the time it could all be traced back to a misunderstanding on Dean's part. Like that Voicemail Debacle. . . Dean had been so torn up that even him bearing his soul like a girl and apologizing to Sam wasn't enough to stop him from his path. If anything it just made him more twitchy and awkward with his older brother. It was just another confirmation that family didn't mean the same thing to Sam that it did to Dean. His suspicions hadn't been peaked until a late night conversation with Castiel. He had wanted to talk about the steps that led to Lucifer rising, and had shuffled nervously and looked away when Dean mentioned the Voicemail.

"I just- I guess I just thought that if Sam heard that, I could stop him." Dean shrugged looking helpless. (Let's see if he rises to the bait. . .)

"It affected Sam more than you know." Castiel said with a guilty look at Sam before leaving with a quick excuse. Dean's eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he hastily smoothed his face when Sam stretched and yawned, waking up. At least he wasn't having nightmares at the moment. Dean knew that it was hard for Sam to get a full night's sleep at the moment. All day in the car, Dean thought it out, remembering how uncomfortable Castiel had seemed with keeping the brothers separated culminating in his rebellion from heaven. What if there was something else to cause the angel to feel guilt? Zachariah had mentioned giving Sam the nudge he needed . . . and hadn't it been odd that Dean was only able to get cell service for just long enough to send that voicemail? He had a terrible idea, and that afternoon he sent Sam on a wild goose chase to the library for some lore so he could have privacy for this conversation.

"Castiel!" Dean yelled to Castiel's voicemail impatiently. "Get your feathery ass over here now! I'm in the Greenville motel parking lot!" A few moments later, the fallen angel of Thursday appeared.

"What's wrong, Dean?" his voice was gravelly, and he looked around, as if expecting to see attacking demons.

"I'm going to tell you a theory, and then you're going to tell me if I got it right." Dean's tone let Castiel know that he wasn't making a request. The angel blade subtly peeking out of his jacket probably helped make his point at how serious this was.

"When I was in the Green Room I sent Sammy a voicemail. I didn't think of it at the time, but it was weird that I suddenly got signal for a few minutes, just when Zach was telling me about giving Sammy a nudge. So I can't help thinking, Cas, that _someone_ messed with the message on his end. That's not the case, is it?"

Dean felt a fleeting moment of pride, looking back on the spasm of emotion that flitted across Castiel's face. It wasn't just anyone who could honestly say that they had intimidated an angel of the lord. "It is true that Zachariah changed the voicemail. Sam heard words of condemnation and hate instead of love and support. He believed that it was the only way to make Sam despair enough to go through with what he believed to be a suicidal plan to stop the demon Lilith."

"Jeez, Cas." Dean didn't have words for a moment. "Wait! Does Sam still think I hate him or anything?"

"No." Castiel seemed relieved to be able to offer some comfort. "Sam woke up during our conversation last night. He _is_ aware of the deception."

"Dean, I couldn't find what you were looking for- hey Cas, what are you doing here?" Sam came jogging up, interrupting their conversation. Dean turned to his brother, making sure to tuck the blade out of sight.

"I called him. I figure we should keep better tabs on each other. So Cas, wanna join us for food?" his eyes held a warning that the angel shouldn't reveal their true conversation to Sam. The angel apparently took it the wrong way, because he begged off and they couldn't get a hold of him for a couple of weeks after that. Dean let the issue go, content that they had managed to sort everything out for once without having to resort to a dreaded chick flick moment.

Unfortunately Dean never questioned that Sam knew what message he had meant to leave for him.

That thought trailed into the third time Sam had died. To be fair, at least that time Dean had followed soon after. (Come to think of it, Dean never did track down Roy and Walt to pay them back for shooting his brother . . . if only he wasn't trying to avoid hunters in general and Sam in particular. It would definitely get back to Sam that their one-time murderers had been dealt with, and that would only enable him to track Dean down. No matter how satisfying it would be to give those bastards their just desserts.) It had been half a minute too long though, of seeing his brother's corpse laying on the next bed, seeing the shocked look on his face. Sam had never believed that they would actually be shot by people they knew.

Their heavens that been . . . different. For a couple of years, Dean had blamed Sam's independent streak, but after a confusing conversation involving Celtic Woman, Jess, and Sam's increasing mental distress Dean realized the truth. It made him want to sing. The angels were cheating manipulative bastards and neither of them had seen Sam's true heaven. Unfortunately he was never sure if he was able to convince Sam of that until a few years later when he had seen a protected file on Sam's computer and called Charlie to talk him through hacking into it.

He had found a bullet list working through the memories of heaven, Sam's calm, organized way of processing and working through the deception. God Dean loved this kid.

(Dean had made it a point to try and give Sam more positive reinforcement until Sam had been creeped out and sure that Dean was planning some kind of prank against him. It wouldn't seem like it, but Dean really did try to give Sam personal space every now and then, but he kept obsessively checking in on him. But no more, Dean refused to ask Crowley how Sam was doing, or pray to Castiel. The angel would only try to get him to see Sam, and at the moment that could only end in disaster. A pet was out of the question . . . probably. Maybe if Dean could just drop off some mutt at the bunker, Sam would take the bait. As far as reassuring Sam that Dean did still love him even after all of this shit had gone down, it wouldn't really work out what with Dean being a demon and all. Sam and Dean had both been told over and over again since they were children that demons lied. Sam had been burned by numerous demons before.)

* * *

Dean was sure that there had to be something that drew all of the monsters and demons to Sam. Maybe it was his beautiful, flawed, still damaged soul? Dean had gotten a good look at it before he left the bunker, repulsed at his ability to sense and see human souls. He had a good idea at what the monsters had seen in Sam. Imagine being the one who was able to corrupt that bright thing? (Dean could still remember when he had first started working with Sam again, how young he was, and how he tried to do the right thing. It was funny how scared Sammy had been of turning Dark side and becoming something he wasn't. That, it seemed, was Dean's role.)

But Dean's job was always to look out for his pain in the ass younger brother, and he would let no one- including himself hurt Sam. (But wouldn't it be easier to watch over Sam and rip the lungs out of anything that tried to hurt him if he kept close? A distant memory chimed, and Dean remembered the time he had sworn to Sam that he wouldn't let anything bad happen to him. But right now Dean was basically the definition of 'anything bad' and until he could be sure of his control, he would not go near Sm.)

Probably the worst time was when Sam died the fourth time in Stull Cemetery and saved the world. A year and a half later, Dean was able to get Sam drunk and his younger brother had explained that seeing the army man wedged into the ashtray and remembering all of the love he had for his brother had enabled him to throw off Lucifer long enough to jump in the cage. It made sense, since Bobby had thrown off the demon possessing him when the alternative was stabbing Dean. (Maybe love worked against the hate that embodied demons? Dean felt more like his old self remembering these things, after all.) For a horrible half minute that lasted years in Dean's mind, he had been the only one left standing in the cemetery, unable to look away from the last spot Sam had ever stood on earth.

With a terrible lurch, Dean realized that that must have been how Sam had felt for the year that Dean was gone and Sam thought he was dead. Sam hadn't had a miracle revival of Castiel, or a healing of Bobby, or even a last promise to fall back on and tell him how to live. Sam only had a demon whispering poison in his ear. How could Sam have stood it? Especially considering he had only just recovered from his hallucinations shortly before.

Speaking of, Dean felt someone approaching the house he was staying in. At first he thought it must be Crowley again, and he was preparing to finally gut the King of Hell the way he should have years ago when he felt the familiar angel grace slipping in. His eyes slid over to the First Blade still in his hand when there was a polite knock on the door.

"Who would have thought it would take me turning into a demon to make you finally learn manners?" Dean asked, opening the door for Castiel. Standing face to face with an angel, Dean was finally aware of how Ruby and Alistair must have felt when confronted with angels for the first time in millennia. The being in front of him was pure power, burning as bright as Dean's but in the opposite direction. Dean wondered which of them would win in a fight. He figured it would be him, since he fought dirty and Castiel still seemed to think he would eventually come back.

"It was unclear to me for a long time how you chose your new living arrangements." Cas commented, ignoring the barb and letting himself in once Dean stood to the side. "It wasn't until the Day-Z inn in Washington State that I realized you were revisiting the rooms you have stayed in with Sam during your years hunting together." Damn it. Dean was hoping that no one would pick up on that. After all, he and Sam had stayed in thousands of hotels over the last few years. "Is there a story with this residence?"

Dean shrugged. "Sam and I worked a case involving a ghost ship. There was a woman. . . I saw her in hell. We should have picked up on it when we learned that she made a deal with a demon to kill her parents. Funny thing, she once told me that Hunters were nothing but revenge driven sociopaths a step away from being serial killers. Guess I proved her right." He really didn't feel like remembering Bela Talbot right now. Cas seemed to pick up on that.

"If you felt the need to stay in familiar places, it probably would have been better to stay in the towns you visited by yourself during the years that Sam was at college, since he had no knowledge of your whereabouts, and everyone who did is dead." Castiel continued lightly.

Dean had thought of that, but it was too lonely. Besides, the memories of Sam helped keep the Mark at bay. If he was going to be stuck as a demon, he was going to do it on his own terms. He shrugged carelessly at Cas and offered him some whiskey. Maybe if they finished the bottle they could go to a bar together. Aside from sounding like the start of a joke, it would be hilarious and probably cathartic to try and get the angel drunk again.

"Why are you here, Castiel?" he asked coldly. The angel accepted the bottle with a nod of thanks, taking a drink.

"Crowley revealed himself to Sam and me and explained that you had tried to kill him. Is it your intention to become the next King of Hell?"

Dean scoffed. "It's my 'intention' to gut him. I don't care about Hell's management." Castiel nodded and offered the bottle back to Dean.

"Sam was worried. I also came to ask advice with how to help him deal with your situation. It is my understanding that you helped him cope with the loss of your father and Bobby Singer." Dean wondered if Castiel always sounded this formal when asking for help, or if it was Dean's black eyes that were putting him off. He switched back to the green color he had had while still alive, and it seemed like Castiel relaxed minutely.

"If this is you trying to guilt me into seeing Sam, you're even worse at it than Crowley." Dean took a long gulp of the alcohol and crossed his arms. "If you really are having trouble, just get him drunk, or send him on a hunt or something."

"I had heard that a demon was mysteriously wiping monsters out of the eastern seaboard. And you do seem to have an abundant supply of alcohol." Cas said, as though they were talking about Dean. The new demon felt his blood pulse for a second with anger before he pushed it back with the memory of that one night in the den of iniquity.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time. And before you ask, I am NOT going back to Sam." Castiel did the weird head tilt thing that reminded Dean of a bird before replying,

"Is it because you are afraid of hurting your brother?" Dean had a low tolerance for annoyance on his better days, and this was definitely not one.

"Get out." He slammed the door open with his mind for emphasis, and Castiel obligingly walked out. He stopped in the doorway, though.

"One more thing. Is Sam allergic to any medications or antibiotics? I let him be admitted to the hospital because I felt it would force Sam to rest, but the nurses were asking many questions, and they insisted I find the answer to them."

A cold claw gripped the place where Dean's heart should have been. Castiel wasn't low enough to lie about Sam being injured. Or at least he better not be.

"What happened?"

"A few of Crowley's dissenters laid a trap for Sam with the intention of burning his anti-possession tattoo off and then using him against you or Crowley. I was able to find him in time, though he initially refused treatment, eventually resulting in an infection." The angel was definitely gaging his reaction and judging him, but at the moment Dean didn't care.

Anger roared through Dean, though the First Blade was oddly silent. If he had to characterize it, he would say that he was feeling the old righteous anger against any who would dare lay a finger on his little brother.

"Do you know where they are now?" Castiel frowned, and for a moment Dean felt like he had failed a test.

"We can easily track them down together."

* * *

A few hours later, Dean and Castiel were standing in an abandoned warehouse, surrounded by the corpses of the demons responsible. Dean was grinning widely, catching his breath. It had been a nice work out.

"So what's with the stick up your ass again?" he casually asked the angel while he wiped the blood off of the Blade.

"My new position in heaven requires me to be always ready for action, with limited time to relax. I will come to check on Sam as often as I am able, however."

"So what, you're heaven's sheriff again? Or are they still calling you commander?" Dean felt a little spite leak into his tone. Between himself and Cas they should be able to look after Sam.

"I am in the process of setting up a more democratic hierarchy, though a group of angels continue to rebel."

Dean grinned wickedly. "If you ever need a demonic helper, I'm free. I bet I could put the fear of God into any factions you've got. . ." he trailed off, and Castiel kept his face purposefully blank.

"No, thank you. There has been enough angel death already." He paused for a moment, tilting his head as if to hear something better. "If you'll excuse me, I should return to Sam's side. He will be waking up soon."

"Don't tell him you saw me." Dean demanded. ("Naturally," Cas murmured, disappointed) "Which hospital is he at, anyway?" something in his tone kept the angel from voicing what should have been the natural follow up question. Dean wouldn't hurt Sam, even if he was a demon at the moment, and any interest shown in something other than killing had to be a good thing, right?

"The Sioux Falls General Hospital. I felt it might bring him some comfort to be in a familiar town. Jodi Mills has already been by several times to visit, along with her ward." Dean nodded, tucking the information away. He turned from the angel, ready to vanish again when something made him pause hesitantly.

"Sam isn't allergic to anything, by the way." He swallowed, and continued "I'm not saying I'll visit for sure, but I've got to take care of some things, first." He said before vanishing. It was a tiny step, but Castiel had to feel hope that it was the first tiny step in Dean's recovery.

The angel made it back in time to fill out the forms for the irate nurses. They were complimentary to Castiel for bringing his friend in when signs of infection appeared, though apparently the nursing staff had limited patience for people who were afraid of the hospital. The thought made Castiel pause for a moment. Was Sam afraid of hospitals? It would make sense. Most of the traumatic experiences in Sam's life had occurred in hospitals, graveyards, or abandoned buildings. It would be reasonable for him to hold a certain amount to trepidation towards any of them.

But it seemed to be the Winchester way to conquer fear the way they had conquered monsters and demons. An intern helpfully let Castiel know that Sam had woken up (approximately half a minute after the fact, but still better than most hospital times), and offered to let the angel join Sheriff Mills in his room.

Sam was angry with Castiel after he explained why he refused to heal him, but he only had time to lay protections on the room before he was called back to heaven. It was a few days before he was able to find the time to visit his hospital bound friend, but when he returned, Sam was in a much better mood than before.

Sam grinned tiredly while he explained to Castiel about the concept of the comfort dogs occasionally allowed into the pediatrics and terminal care wards to cheer up patients. Apparently there had been some kind of mix up with the handler's roster, because two of the dogs were let into Sam's room where they were kept for an hour and a half while they tried to find the correct room list. Castiel took note of the fact that the friendly furry animals seemed to have cheered up Sam greatly, and once he fell asleep (the antibiotics apparently had that as a side effect in some cases), Castiel went to check on the paperwork himself. He kept invisible to human eyes, and nodded congenially at the Reaper working the building, allowing himself a small smile of satisfaction when he felt a familiar demonic miasma around the clipboard. In case he needed more proof, Castiel also saw the familiar handwriting authorizing the new room to the added to the list under the name of D. Osbourne.

* * *

Dean never visited Sam while he was in the hospital. Soon after he was discharged, Dean learned from Cas that Sam was doing a salt-and-burn in Boston. Dean made himself swallow down the lump in his throat and think past the blade calling to him. He was able to almost mute the thing when he remembered their prank war in Texas those years ago, and the first time they met Gabriel.

Dean stood in front of Albert's Motor Inn (the first one in the phone book) and found a tired looking college kid manning the check in desk.

"Hey man, can you tell me which room my friend Jim Rothford is staying in?" he slid a fifty over to sweeten the deal, and the kid pointed him in the direction of room two forty. Sam was still using their old method of finding each other when they were separated.

There was nobody in the room, so Dean drove to the only bar close enough to walk back from (Sam was always a cautious drinker) and sat in the parking lot, thinking. If he was going to do this, he had better be sure that he would be able to keep a hold of himself. Dean was more than just a ball of rage and the Mark of Cain. Dean was made up of lots of things.

He was John Winchester's oldest son and the first Legacy of the Men of Letters. He was a damn good hunter and the chosen vessel of the first archangel Michael. Dean had been to Hell, Purgatory, Heaven, The Garden, and in every one of the lower forty-eight states of America. He was a decent dad to Ben, when he was still around, he was a big brother, and Dean knew every word to every Black Sabbath song ever. He could fight off this thing on his arm.

A couple of neighborhood kids were being annoying with their pansy skate tricks across the street, so Dean moved inside the bar. He sat in the corner and watched a group of coeds playing pool until a waitress came to take his drink order. There was a clump of noisy football fans by the jukebox, and Dean ignored them until one of them started a song that earned him jeers and snickers from his friends. It was an REO Speed Wagon song. One that reminded him of the Road House, and a girl with long blonde hair who wanted to hunt to be close to her dead father. If only she could see how far off the reservation he was now. . .

Come to think of it, Dean remembered the last time he had done something truly impossible. He had been more than ready to say yes to Michael, and had needed an intervention from Castiel. Then Sam had taken him along to confront Zachariah and rescue Adam. The only thing that had stopped Dean from giving up was looking over and realizing that he couldn't disappoint Sam anymore. And maybe Sam and Cas were the only ones Dean had now, but he still could remember the other people who had formed Dean's life, messed up though it had been. He didn't even like some of them, had been betrayed by more than one, but they were all part of the human side of Dean that he needed to remember and act on.

He reached down deep inside and pulled up John's determination, Mary's hope for the future, Bobby's gruff assurances of family, Castiel's desperation to do the right thing, even if he had no idea what it was, Ellen's motherly concern, Ash's frankness, Pamela's spunk, Rufus' loyalty, Caleb's sometimes spooky ability to pick up any weapon and master it, Andy's code of honor, Pastor Jim's goodness, Chuck's support no matter what the odds, Garth's off the wall humor, Charlie's quirky joy, Jodi's ability to keep her heart even in the darkness, Jo's spirit, Lisa's acceptance, Ben's wide eyed wonder and ability to bounce back, even Anna's love for humanity, Bela's snark, Hendrickson's sense of justice, Kevin's adaptability, and Sam's soul. He reached deep inside and pulled them each up to the surface, because if he was going to fight back this thing constantly trying to warp his soul, Dean was going to need everything he had to fight it off.

He needed all of them to be his armor. Once all of his walls were in place, Dean ordered his usual cheeseburger with onions, making sure to taste every bite. Sam came in about half an hour later. He was still a little disheveled, but it was obvious he had cleaned up the worst of the dirt and blood in the car. Sam kept his head down, not paying very much attention to his surroundings.

Once Sam seemed settled down with his bottle of beer, Dean stood silently and prowled behind his little brother. Then without warning, he projected his demonic aura, making Sam jump and swing around leading with a right hook to buy time to pull out the demon killing knife. Dean caught the fist before it made contact.

Dean's thoughts were whirling around in his head, but they didn't matter. Dean was different now, but that didn't matter either. All that mattered was that he was back where he belonged, and he remembered what made him who he was.

"Whoa, easy tiger."


End file.
